Behind me?
Hagrid blinked and stepped aside, revealing Morris. He rumbled, "A young Wizard. In your words, a Wizard cub."
A flicker of bewilderment crossed Bane's face. Normally, while Centaurs didn't welcome Wizards treading in their Forbidden Forest, they mostly controlled their tempers. For Bane to hurl his spear at them like this was downright abnormal.
Wizard cub?
Bane's gaze shot toward Morris like a spear; Morris stared back without flinching.
Not a good guy, Morris thought. But he didn't want trouble. He cleared his throat. "Any problem?"
Bane's nostrils flared, thick with undisguised loathing. "Can't you smell the stench on yourself, vile creature?"
Morris frowned. "If there's nothing else, I'm leaving."
This Centaur… lamentable manners. Utter nonsense. All that talk of stench and vile creatures—hardly compliments. Morris had no desire to dig deeper; he had no wish to speak with a trash-mouthed oaf.
"Wait."
Even as Bane spoke, his huge frame blocked Morris's path. With one hand, he gripped the spear lodged in the earth and pulled it free with a shower of soil. The spear spun deftly in his grasp; though the point aimed at no one, its message was clear.
Morris cursed inwardly. He had no idea how he'd offended this half-man, half-horse.
"You're not leaving, cub," Bane said coldly. "Something unspeakably evil clings to you—a threat to the forest. You'll be examined before you walk out."
Hagrid stepped forward at once, anger in his voice. "Bane! What d'you think you're doing?"
He knew he had to be tough. Any other Centaur might listen, but Bane was among the most Wizard-hating of them all. Hagrid's toughness seemed useless.
"I have no wish to fight you, Hagrid," Bane said firmly. "Let the cub behind you come with me. If he's clean, he'll come back unharmed. We never hurt the innocent—and it's for your own good."
Hagrid's shaggy brows knit. He looked down at Morris, his voice softer. "Morris, what d'you say? Centaurs aren't bad, only careful. Bane's got a foul temper, but he never lies."
Morris heard the dilemma in Hagrid's tone. Still… "I decline." His face was blank.
No chance. A stranger from an alien race pops up demanding to take him—who knows what might happen? Besides, the fellow fairly reeked of malice.
"That's not your choice, cub," Bane rumbled, advancing two steps.
Hagrid instinctively moved between them.
"It's all right, Hagrid," Bane said. "I won't harm him—only take him somewhere."
Hagrid's resolve visibly wavered.
While he hesitated, Bane reached Morris. His hands clamped around one of Morris's arms. Morris eyed the thick forearm; he knew he couldn't match that strength. He lifted his chin, meeting Bane's eyes.
"Let go." The words were eerily calm.
Bane's grip never budged. "You have no say."
Morris sighed inaudibly. Since the other side insisted on force, so be it. Luckily, he was already adept with the two curses he knew.
"Weakening Curse!"
"Wailing Curse!"
His wand flicked subtly, a camouflage of motion, and the two spells shot forth in a rapid chant. No flashy lights—only two faint dark streaks, serpentine, coiling around Bane's arm and sinking in.
"What—?"
Bane shuddered. A tide of weakness swept over him, his hand trembling uncontrollably. His strength was being siphoned away! At the same instant, a shrill, soul-piercing wail exploded in his skull, sending him reeling.
Magic!
"You—"
Bane snarled, shocked and furious. Never had he imagined this frail Wizard cub wielded such eerie power, nor that the wand's motion could be invisible. He tried to clench his fist, but limp muscles and the brain-splitting noise robbed him of control.
Morris yanked free and leapt back two paces, eyes cold. Hagrid stood transfixed, unsure what to do.
"Mr. Centaur," Morris said flatly, "picking on an eleven-year-old Wizard is hardly something to brag about."
He followed up with two more Wailing Curses and two Weakening Curses. If quality wasn't enough, quantity would do. Four dark streaks shot out, sinking into Bane's chest.
This time, the effect was stark. Bane grunted, his knees buckling, nearly collapsing. Weakness and ceaseless mental screech left him barely able to stand.
"What… evil spell… is this?" he rasped. He tried to raise his spear; his arms wouldn't obey.
"Just a special Stupefy," Morris replied coolly. "I'm securing my safety, sir. Don't blame me—you struck first."
"Wailing Curse!"
He added one more for good measure. This time, the Centaur reached his limit. Body and mind broken, he could hold on no longer. Bane's pupils shrank; his massive frame crashed to the turf, raising a cloud of dust. His last sight was Morris's unruffled face before darkness swallowed him.
"Merlin's beard!" Hagrid rushed over, knelt, and checked Bane. Finding the Centaur only unconscious, he exhaled and then turned to Morris with an odd look. "That was a bit much, Morris."
The words sounded absurd even to him. A first-year… too much? Ridiculous. Yet the first-year had felled a full-grown Centaur—fact.
Morris slid his wand back into his sleeve. "He started it, Hagrid. I defended myself."
"I know." Hagrid sighed, scratching his thick beard, staring at the fallen Bane, unsure what to do next.
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